


This is my Design

by deutschtard



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, genfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:47:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deutschtard/pseuds/deutschtard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal sees Will like no one else does, like no one else dares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is my Design

**Author's Note:**

> My first Hannibal fic, maybe I'll write more, I don't know.

      "This is my design." He had heard Will Graham say this in his sleep, fitfully turning on the dull couch in Abigail Hobbs' room. Hannibal had feigned sleep when he heard footsteps, knowing they were Will's, and they had chatted for a few moments over the comatose body. Will's detachment tasted like the bite of a not-yet ripened strawberry in his mouth--not sweet, but not altogether unpleasant. The room was devoid of color, devoid of a soul, like most hospitals. Some kept skeletons, spirits walking the halls in faint scents and sounds, but this room permitted none of it. Though three hearts beat within its walls, this room was dead. Perhaps it was because the men themselves were, for all intents and purposes, dead inside. They had to become so to deal with the world, with what the world chose to show them, with what the world had to offer. For poor Will, it was all too much. Hannibal could see the gaping void in Will's psyche, the inability to find tools that would work for him, for a man who saw the world in a way few could stomach. Will was not one of them, but he had no choice. He had no way to release those horrors he saw, no way to divorce himself from the scents and sounds, the touch of the murderers hands, gripping tightly to his soul, squeezing it like a vice until his sheets were drenched every night. Hannibal could smell the fear on him. It changed the taste in his mouth, making it bitter, like fermented orange juice. He knew Will was better than that, capable of more.

      Hannibal stood in his kitchen and breathed the life of his dish in. The human heart rest on his cutting board as his knife sliced evenly through it, the pieces jumping at the sudden heat of the frying pan. The seasonings joined the meat and they danced in the heat, the last ounce of life in them waltzing across the coppery surface. In this way, he could taste his own life, sweet, savory, exploding in his mouth. The sauce began boiling in the pot on the next burner, and the spoon stirred through the dark, viscous fluid with practiced ease. It was seasoned perfectly. He thought to himself what paths his life would have taken had he chosen a culinary career.

      Will caught his eyes for just a moment--enough for Hannibal to see that confidence peeking through--over the dinner, before he found a knot in the table to study as he spoke. The food was being eaten slowly, savored as he spoke more about the theories surrounding the Shrike's copycat. Each bite was another thrill, the satisfaction Hannibal felt as Will described his theory was palpable. "Very good," he heard Will say as he finished the meal. Hannibal cleared the table, and they washed up together before retiring to the sitting room. He could tell just exactly what Will was seeing, which books on the bookcase caught his eye, what textures of the rugs, the scent of the ageing paper all around him. He had been taking a risk, letting him into his own home, but he had nothing to hide, he was too careful for that.

      The gin loosened the conversation a bit, and Hannibal watched how Will became animated and disgusted simultaneously as he spoke of this copycat. This was something he could admire, and a way he could feign a more believable kinship with the agent. This one was interesting, more so than the few others he had interacted with. This one had so much promise. His brain so unique, and Hannibal wondered just what lengths he could push Will to, and what he would do when he felt himself on that precipice. He would be there to watch him fall, or to throw him a rope. This was his design.


End file.
